I think about the heat that radiated onto my hand when I dragged the razor across her milky thighs, and how the hem of her dress would have only needed to shift an inch to give me unrestricted access to her fragrant-smelling pussy.
I recall each boundary I’ve crossed in our friendship, but instead of it shunting me back to the start of the race, it pushes me over the finish line as a foreign name leaves my lips. “Macy…”
Streams of cum rocket out of my cock and cling to the bathroom tiles. My release is like nothing I’ve experienced before. It is a climax so powerful that it buckles my knees out from beneath me more than the miles I ran to stop precisely this from happening.
“Fuck,” I grunt out again several long breaths later, more in frustration this time than pleasure.
Disgusted by the scent of my release in the air, I splash water onto the evidence of my stupidity and then bat off the faucet before hanging my head in shame. Normally, I towel off before stepping out of the shower, but with my mind preoccupied, I forgot to bring one.
Karma gnaws my ass when I almost slip while climbing out of the tub. As I head to the linen closet near the bathroom entrance, I leave puddles of water in my wake.
I’m almost there when the bathroom door suddenly swings open, and Macy enters like she has a rocket strapped to her back.
The urgency of her dilemma dawns on me when she plops onto the toilet a second before a torrent of pee overtakes the frantic pounding of my heart in my ears.
As fast as her bladder empties, Macy’s Spidey senses pick up. With her eyes wide, they shoot to me standing frozen a foot from the linen closet, butt fucking naked.
I hide my still-firm cock with my hands, but her wide-eyed and gaping-mouth expression makes it seem as if it didn’t achieve release only minutes ago.
They also expose why her play of the shy card always goes off without a hitch. It is Oscar-worthy. She has the innocent-blusher vibe down pat, and my dick is more than interested in exploring how deep her blush goes.
After gawking long enough that I’m closer to strangling my dick than concealing it, Macy snaps her eyes to the vanity, where she shakes her head, certain she’s still dreaming.
Her gulp is audible when she returns her eyes to me. “Nope. I’m not dreaming. You’re still naked, and I am still peeing.” Before I can commend her bladder on being able to hold almost a gallon of liquid, she murmurs, “You’re not meant to be here. Your running shoes weren’t under the hallway table, where they’ve been for the past two days. Everyone knows the only time you move your running shoes is when you’re on a run.” Her eyes lift from my hands to my face. “So why are you here, listening to me pee?”
“I went for a run.” I have no fucking clue who the dweeb talking is, but I am certain he isn’t me. His voice is whiny and uncomfortable, a stark contrast to how I usually sound. “But I picked up something nasty during my travels, so I left my shoes outside.” When she grunts in disbelief, I say, “Would you have preferred I walk dogshit through the apartment?”
“No, but…” She has nothing to come back with, so she shifts her focus elsewhere. “Why wasn’t the bathroom door locked? You’re usually pedantic about privacy.”
I can’t exactly tell her I was racing away because I was desperate to discover how her moans would tickle my tongue, and that you’re not thinking about privacy when you are stroking your cock over your friend and work colleague, so instead, I shrug.
Macy looks like she wants to say something, but with her bladder empty and the realization that the toilet roll is just as sparse, she holds back.
“Thanks,” she mumbles when I hand her a fresh roll a second before snagging a towel from a shelf above the stack of rolls.
Once she has a wad of toilet paper in her hand, she gestures for me to spin around. Her request makes me laugh. I can’t see a single thing below the bump in her midsection.
When I say that to Macy, she grunts. “I’m more worried about you seeing the color of my pee, and the lecture on hydration it might instigate.”
“What color is your pee?” I ask, spinning back around.
Macy’s eyes narrow as she flushes the toilet before she moves to the vanity to wash her hands. She thinks the conversation is over, but karma hasn’t finished with me yet. With her socks missing the grip dots I suggested days ago, her stomp through one of the puddles I left sees her skidding across the tiles like a newborn foal.
She is seconds away from colliding harshly with the rigid tile floor—or, worse, the vanity sink.
Without a second thought, I race to her side, band my arms around her waist, and then cushion her fall so she lands on top of me instead of on the tiles.
Her knee collides with my once again naked crotch, but no part of her body, most particularly the giant ball in her midsection, gets close to anything dangerous.
“Are you okay?” The disgusting stench of fear mingles with a dash of excitement.
During her flaps to stay upright, Macy’s nightgown rode up to her stomach, and its straps slipped from her shoulders. She is one wayward stretch from a nipple slip.
“Yeah. Ah…” She adjusts the straps before carefully sliding off me. “I think so.” She wets her lips before peering up at me with her big, beautiful eyes blinking back tears. “Thanks for catching me.”
Her worry about her unborn child is evident on her face, and I can’t disregard her concern for a second more. “Come on. We should get everything checked with a doctor.”
“That’s not necessary. I’m sure everything is fine.” Her tone lacks the conviction I need to let this go.
